


Iridenscia

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Art Inspired, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slow Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The material of the fabric itself had felt weird, but actually seeing himself wearing it was a whole new indescribable sensation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iridenscia

**Author's Note:**

> I did it again. Another short ficlet inspired by a picture by cresnoir. The picture in question is [this one](http://41.media.tumblr.com/16b6d034568aaf22026fb274dad8c03a/tumblr_inline_o079p8dscn1rm7yh4_500.jpg) on [this post](http://cresnoir.tumblr.com/post/136295527214/squidlici0us-sweet-murder-slime-why-dont-we) (slightly NSFW). Bless this wonderful post.

As usual with most of their bedroom escapades, this was all Brainstorm’s idea.

Quark stood before the full body mirror, optics brightening at what he saw. The material of the fabric itself had felt weird, but actually seeing himself wearing it was a whole new indescribable sensation. The over-piece was sheer, soft and silky to the touch, hanging from his shoulders by thin straps and ending just a little past his thighs, where it fluttered loosely.

The undergarment, however, was a bit different; a lot tighter, tied around his hips with long ribbons. The front of the piece was a square patch, but between his legs and from the back, it was equally thin as the straps.

Both pieces were made of the same strange alien fabric: it seemed to glitter and glow, as if laced with microscopic light fibers.

“What material is this… outfit made of?” Quark asked, picking at the ribbons of his underwear over the top. He didn’t want to admit he was actually very curious. He’d never come across a fabric so unique as this. Nothing like this existed on Cybertron, at least.

“The aliens call it _iridenscia_ ,” Brainstorm answered, watching from his spot at the edge of the berth. He was beaming, enjoying the show. “And the outfit is known commonly as lingerie. It’s a popular gift for loved ones on their planet.”

Quark’s optics flashed. “It’s… Well, I don’t really… know…” He’d been picking and tugging at various spots on the top. He wasn’t used to wearing fabric of any sort. It wasn’t painful–-it felt good on his dermal plating, actually, so smooth and soft–but it was still a little awkward. “The color is very lovely?”

It was an opalescent teal. Brainstorm looked proud. “I think it matches your paint scheme perfectly,” he insisted. He stood, approaching Quark, who was once more studying himself and the clothes in the mirror. He plucked at the edges of the top, legs shifting so the thin fabric thread between his legs rubbed against plating. “So, I suppose your next question is: why?”

Quark blinked, glancing at Brainstorm over his shoulder. “It doesn’t look like it’s ceremonial,” he said. “I don’t know what occasion I would wear this for.”

Brainstorm chuckled. “Lemme show you,” he said, and poked the middle of Quark’s back, startling him. “Open your panel.”

Quark’s optics flashed, and he went tense. “W-What?”

“C'mon. Trust me.”

Quark hesitated for that very reason. But then he saw Brainstorm’s pathetic, pleading expression in the mirror’s reflection, and exvented. So hard to say no to that stupid cute face. Optics shifting nervously to the ground, he felt the fabric rub against his pelvic plating as they opened and slid apart. He could feel the underwear just barely grazing sensitive mesh folds.

“I-Is this necessary?” Quark mumbled, Brainstorm moving behind him again. “Is this some sort of interfa–-”

Brainstorm hooked his finger into the back of the panties, and abruptly pulled it up and back harshly. Quark squawked as the strap between his legs rode up, between folds, pressing hard against an anterior node. But before he could ask Brainstorm what he was doing, the flier started working the panties in rhythmic tugs. The fabric stroked along channel folds, against the node, warming up–

“Nnh!” Quark shuddered, gasping. “Brainstorm!” His cheekplates burned, optics wide behind his glasses. He thrust his hands between his legs, over his channel. Brainstorm just kept working the strap, and soon Quark’s knees felt weak. “B-Brainstorm…”

“Not too unlike an electrope, right?” Brainstorm snickered. He yanked up the back of the panties, adding more pressure to the anterior node.

Quark shivered. This felt… weird. Not bad, just weird.

Brainstorm let the strap go, the panties slapping back into place against Quark’s frame, instantly loosening. Quark exvented, then gasped again as Brainstorm swept him off his feet and carried him over to the berth. He laid him down, a little more rushed than necessary, then quickly sprawled out beside him.

Quark had very little time to recover as Brainstorm’s hand snuck down between his legs, a finger pushing up against his anterior node over the fabric. Quark whimpered, rising in an arch off the berth. He settled with a shaky exhale; Brainstorm rubbed the node in slow, aching circles, and with that extra stimulus of the fabric grinding into his node… The scientist’s head spun, and he pressed a hand to his forehead, as if trying to anchor himself back to reality.

Brainstorm chuckled against Quark’s audiol. The fabric was damp with lubricant. “See?” He drew his finger up and down between the folds in gentle strokes before returning to the node. “I knew you’d like it!”

Quark quivered. “It’s–-it’s not e-entirely the clothing t-that…” he choked, trailing off. Warm ripples ran up his backstrut, and he found himself rolling his hips in equal pace with Brainstorm’s finger.

“I figured we’d go slow today,” Brainstorm hummed, “break in the lingerie.” He withdrew his finger just to playfully flick the node, and Quark squeaked, hips bucking. Brainstorm pushed him back down against the berth, now two fingers stroking the wet, mesh walls of his channel.

Quark bit into his bottom lip, closed his optics. The fabric was as warm as it was wet, but it almost seemed to… vibrate. Quark would want to know how this alien clothing was capable of doing this, but as of right now, he just didn’t care. It felt good, and his mind was a swimming, cloudy mess of desire and need. He rode those fingers, never going too deep, every few strokes rising his hips off the berth, feet scrambling for purchase on the berth.

Brainstorm was quiet through all this. He said nothing, listening to Quark’s noises; his whimpers and moans. But he wasn’t bored; if anything, he was having just as much fun. Quark, in his daze, could feel the arousal and heat emitting from the flier’s EM field. It consumed his own field, sickly sweet, pulling him closer with similar need.

And Quark would have asked Brainstorm not to spoil him. Would have offered a little mutual help. But this was an experiment–Brainstorm was simply observing, watching how the variables reacted, waiting for that catalytic moment. Taking his time, because in science you didn’t rush things; slow, patient, ever focused.

Slow, sweet; perfect. Brainstorm talked fast, sometimes acted without thinking first, but he knew what he was doing. Calculating and drawing out this overload so perfectly that it wasn’t painful. It was torturous, but only in the best ways, and Quark laughed internally–-it was so odd, how torture could also be synonymous with wonderful, pleasurable, but, well…

Naturally, right before Brainstorm could finally induce what would be one Hell of a hard climax from Quark, he withdrew his fingers, the fabric following. Quark, venting heavily, cracked his dim optics open a little. He watched, wired and yet fatigued, on the edge of a charge, as Brainstorm got onto his knees, parting Quark’s legs so he could kneel between them.

“Just wait, just wait,” Brainstorm whispered hoarsely. His unit was out, pressurized, throbbing. He grabbed it in one hand, pumping it as he stared down at Quark, unblinking.

Quark, lying pliant beneath him; lips parted as he cycled air in his overheated, shaky frame, optics lidded and violet with undeniable lust. And that lingerie… the loose, diaphanous top, poured over Quark’s torso, pushed up a bit to expose more of the underwear. The underwear with their pretty ribbons around his thin hips, the fabric between a darker shade of teal with patches of lubricant. Glowing, warm, shimmering, matching the blue of Quark’s optics, his lenses, the spark pulsing beneath those heaving chestplates.

Brainstorm quickly pressed two fingers back inside Quark’s channel, hooking up and massaging nodes. Quark keened, bucking. Just a few more strokes, a few more pumps–-Quark overloaded first, lubricant and transfluid wetting Brainstorm’s fingers, his thighs, the underwear.

But Brainstorm, with those careful calculations, overloaded a short, half-minute later, and gasped with sudden pride as he streaked Quark’s torso–-the lingerie–-with ribbons of transfluid, hitting the edges of his chin, a little of his cheek.

Quark winced and stiffened.

Brainstorm groaned, sitting back, holding his depressurized unit.

Quark invented. He lightly touched some of the purple fluid staining his top. “You… you ruined it…” he grumbled, but there was no real anger in his voice. Maybe a little disappointment, but he was still coming out of the haze of his overload.

“No,” Brainstorm hummed, placid, “y-you look so… lovely.”

Quark looked away, embarrassed. “N-Not like this.”

Brainstorm snickered. He bowed down, bunching fabric in his fists, forehead nuzzling against Quark’s. “Always,” he said, smiling and bumping his nose against Quark’s glasses, “always, always.”


End file.
